


Courage

by KnottyCricket



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bonding, Childhood Talk, F/M, Gen, Giving Advice and Encouragement, Major Lip Lock, Nightmares, Some Stark Love, Something Light, Wishes, jonsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 06:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14731305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnottyCricket/pseuds/KnottyCricket
Summary: Just a scene that could have been included in season seven episode two, Stormborn.





	Courage

**Author's Note:**

> Bryan Cogman, a GOT writer, in an interview said there was a deleted scene where Jon tells Ghost to watch over Sansa after exits the crypts. Perhaps a scene like this would have made up for all the Ghost scenes HBO owes us.
> 
>  
> 
> I know only Kings in the North and Lords of Winterfell get their own statue when they die, but do you think Rickon deserves one?  
> I mean the poor guy has been ignored, he deserves a bit of recognition, right?

The air outside, laced with apprehension wrapped its winged arms around her, making her skin prickle; when she gulped, the taste of solitude demon-danced in the base of her belly. She was alone, in the wild and on the run, till the glare of cloudy eyes emerged within her sights, circling, baring claws of shattered steel. She stood still, transfixed by its hideousness; it had golden horns shaped like crisscrossed arakhs, teeth like innumerable darning needles and fur as ash as wood kissed by fire. The spell of dizziness came forth, her head swung gently back and forth like braids stirred by calm breeze. 

The cold air filled her lungs, windswept pines moving against the coming night, low growling sounds harmonizing with the nocturnally functioning; making her hackles stand on end. Her eyes slowly scanned through the form of her assailant; with a sharp draw of breath, she shut her eyes and straightened herself. ‘I am the daughter of the north and I do not fear you.’ She said quietly. The aggressive grumbling of the beast heightened, the approaching sounds of its limbs thumped closer. She spoke her prayer, each time louder than the last. As she opened her eyes, it leaped towards her and she woke.

Her chest heaved furiously, her face formed into a frown, perspiration moistened her pits and neck. She sat up from her bed, her side face meeting the flash of moonlight coming into her room from the aperture. She swiftly looked round the expanse of her chambers. The space within her ensconce highlighted a hearth, a nicely carved wooden dresser, two shelves housing her growing collection of sewing needles, threads and hair blends, a closet and a bed. At the side of the bed was her cloak, and her winter boots, the leather shiny with oil. 

She dragged off the blankets from her form and got off the bed. The walk to the spot where a wash-hand basin stood was a hasty one. She flinched at the feel of the cold water against her palms. Slowing sinking her hands into the water basin and widening it when she reached the bottom, she formed her hands as if to grab the water before raising them to her face. Her mouth parted slightly when drops of water settled on her nightie. 

A rap sounded on the door. She said nothing. The knock came again, a bit bolder. She still said nothing.  
‘Sansa.’ The person at the other end called, gently.  
‘Jon?’ She inquired.  
‘Yes. Are you alright? I waited for you at dinner but you never came.’ He wondered.  
No reply came from her end, but he did hear some quiet noises. The old wooden door creaked when it opened.  
‘Jon.’ she breathed.  
‘Sansa? What’s wrong? He pleaded.  
‘It’s nothing.’ She answered, before gently clearing her throat. ‘Just some belly aches.’  
‘Should I get the maester?’  
‘No, no. It has subsided.’  
‘Alright.’ He said, forming his face into that look he often wore when he didn’t know what else to say.  
‘Do you want to come in?’ she offered.  
He smiled his response.

She stepped aside for him to enter. He walked in and stood, as if waiting for her to permit him to sit. She closed the door gently, clutched her wears as she strode across the room.  
‘Would you like to drink something?’ she asked.  
‘Already had enough wine for the day.’  
‘I don’t mean wine.’ She assured, before turning her back to him. ‘Water.’  
‘Alright.’ He answered, smiling.

He walked towards a chair and wanted to quietly drag out to sit before she quizzed, ‘What are you doing?’  
‘Trying to sit.’ He replied, flexing the corners of his mouth unsurely at her question.  
‘Sit on the bed.’ she ordered as she placed the cup of water in his hand.  
For an instant, he thought about resisting, but the firm line of her jaw told him plainly that she was in no mood to countenance defiance.

‘I spoke with Tanton earlier this evening, he says he will be finished with Rickon’s statue on the morrow.’  
He nodded, looking intently at the water in the cup.  
‘You look nervous.’  
He scoffed.  
She placed a hand to his shoulder. ‘It will be fine. Just trust your wits.’  
‘What’s the south like? I’ve always wondered.’  
‘It’s less cold.’ She mused.  
They both chuckled.  
‘There are more things to feast your eyes on. And it’s more eventful, when no one is warring.’  
‘Hmm.’  
‘It is dangerous as you well know. Lots of scheming and hatching.’

A short moment of silence followed

‘You will be fine with Baelish around when I’m gone?’  
‘Don’t worry about little finger. Focus on the mission ahead.’

Silence once again ensued until Sansa suddenly smiled as she looked out the aperture.  
‘What is it? Jon inquired.  
‘I remember when father used to sit before the fire during times like this, and tell us stories of magic, conquest and gallantry. The tales of the rat cook always frightened me the most.’ She turned to look at him. ‘Sometimes, I would go to mother and father’s chambers when I couldn’t close my eyes at night without picturing something crawling out of the dark corners of my room to nibble on my flesh.’  
Jon cackled.  
‘Did you know Arya would sometimes leave the bones of her meal under my pillow to frighten me the more?’ she quizzed amusingly.  
Jon’s smile widened.  
‘What!?’ she exclaimed humorously. ‘You knew!?’  
‘On occasion.’

Sansa playfully hit him with her pillow and they laughed together. Somehow amidst their pillow fights, Sansa ended up on top of him. Their laughter abated. Light streamed onto the bed. Jon’s gaze lowered as she slowly descended herself to him. His eyes met hers. Hot, liquid and nearly overpowering need energized her courage to the awareness of him that she tried so hard to ignore since their reunion at castle black.

She licked her lips gone dry. Her hands carefully pressed flat on his chest. Before, she could blink, he rose himself to her, his mouth too close to hers. She closed her eyes to the desire in his that was beyond physical comprehension. A soft moan escaped her just as she joined her lips to his.

His elbows propped himself up. Her hands wander through his pillowy curls to his luxurious moustaches. His tongue a hot pleasant taste of melting sugar. Her legs widened and before she knew it, her fingers slid down to where to the knot of his breeches were. Jon groaned. She stilled her excited fingers. Her mouth moved on his, an open invitation to anything he asked.

The quiet breeze of the night blew against their joined bodies. Nothing mattered but the feel of him against her. Nothing. She had waited too long. She heard him groan as she moved her fingers once more to his breeches. One of his hand rose to cup her chin. She worked faster on her task of unburdening him, before he suddenly pulled away.  
‘Sansa.’ He said thickly, as he tried to repossess his lost senses. ‘We can’t.’  
Her breathing was a little ragged, then she bravely ascended her eyes to meet his.  
‘I’m sorry.’ Jon whispered.  
She shifted her hands from him and climbed off him. Never had she experienced that kind of rejection, after all everyone mewled about she beautiful she was.  
‘Do you want me to leave?’ Jon softly questioned, sensing her uneasiness.  
‘No.’ she whispered.  
He was surprised.  
‘Stay. Please?’ she pleaded. Her voice sounding a little shaky.  
He said nothing, but he laid back on the bed. She reclined as well. No words were spoken, nor was any eye contact made. Everything was silent except Sansa’s body, with her occasional shifting.

'I am the lady of Winterfell.’ She thought to herself. ‘Be strong.’ She said in her mind, repeatedly, till she fell asleep.

Before the crack of dawn, he was gone, but he left a bit of himself; ghost, his furry add-on.

 

‘


End file.
